Tempered Steel

by Paul J Bennett

  “Let me speak,” he said, advancing into the workshop and closing the door behind him.

  She backed up. “Very well, have your say.”

  “I know you said this wouldn’t work, but I had to see you again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because ever since we stopped seeing each other, I’ve been out of sorts.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlaine asked.

  “It means that I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve been right here all along. Did you think I’d left town?”

  “No, of course not, but I wanted to honour your wishes and stayed away.”

  “Then what’s changed?”

  “Nothing,” he admitted, “and that’s the problem. When I was with you, I felt like the world was a wonderful place, but now it feels drab and lonely.”

  “There are always women at the tavern to cure your loneliness,” she retorted.

  “They no longer hold any interest for me. The only person I can think about is you.”

  Charlaine's heart skipped a beat as she opened the smithy door. “Come,” she said, glancing over to her parent's house. “Let’s leave this place and go somewhere we can talk without the risk of being overheard.”

  Ludwig followed her out, and they walked down the street in silence. She led him towards the centre of town to the Plaza of the Saints. Here, five roads converged while the two temples stood watch over them, those of Saint Agnes and Mathew. In the middle of the plaza stood a large pool. It had originally been a fountain, but long ago, the mechanism had broken. Now it laid unmoving, as lifeless as Charlaine felt inside.

  As the sun turned the evening sky red, they sat on a nearby bench

  “It’s very beautiful here,” she said. “So peaceful.”

  “It is.”

  She turned to him, taking his hand. “I’ve missed you,” she confessed, her eyes tearing up.

  “As I have, you. Look, I know that it was your wish that we do not see each other any more, but I need to hear that from your own lips, not some tear-stained letter. If that’s the way you truly feel, I shall respect your wishes.”

  “And if not?” she nearly whispered.

  “Then I shall move the earth itself to have you be by my side,” he vowed. “You fulfil me.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, when you’re with me, it makes me want to be a better man.”

  “To protect me?”

  Ludwig laughed. “No, you’re quite capable of protecting yourself, but you challenge me, in a good way, I mean.”

  Charlaine smiled. “I feel the same way.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded, too afraid to speak.

  “Then why did you insist on not seeing me?” he asked.

  “Our relationship is doomed, and we both know it. We are from different worlds, you and I.”

  “Is that your heart speaking, or your head?”

  “My mind says it’s wrong, but my heart's not listening. Besides, what would people say?”

  “Never mind that,” said Ludwig. “People will say whatever they want, they always have.”

  Charlaine looked across at the Temple of Saint Agnes. “I wish I had her strength.”

  “Whose?”

  “Saint Agnes. She was a strong woman.”

  “In what way?”

  “When the people of Herani were starving, she stood up to Jaramel, the High Lord of the city, when no one else had the courage.”

  “To what end, I wonder?” Ludwig mused.

  “She formed an army of women and marched to the high lord’s granaries to demand he release the grain to the starving masses. Jaramel sent his army to stop her, but none of his soldiers would attack the women.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “He sent his own palace guard to arrest her,” she said, “but the women formed a wall around her. Faced with the prospect of angering the entire city, they backed down, and High Lord Jaramel was forced to release the grain.”

  “Interesting. It appears that Agnes was a master tactician.”

  “She was saving lives, not fighting a battle.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Ludwig said. “Saving lives IS a battle.”

  “If you say so.”

  He stared into her eyes. “I see strength in your eyes, Charlaine. Perhaps the spirit of Saint Agnes lives in you after all?”

  She blushed at the compliment. “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, I mean it. I’ve never met a woman like you before.”

  “That’s all well and good, but where does that leave us?”

  “I cannot bear the thought of not seeing you again.”

  “Nor I,” she said, “but I doubt your father would approve.”

  “Then let’s not tell him. What was it you said before? Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission?”

  Charlaine smiled at the memory. “Easier said than done,” she said. “Your father is a powerful man.”

  “And I am his son,” Ludwig replied. “One day, Saints willing, I’ll be the baron.”

  “But until that day, you must live under his roof.”

  “That roof is no longer wanted if I can’t see you,” he declared.

  She felt like she was on the edge of a great cliff, waiting to plunge into a ravine. Would she die on the rocks below or strike water and swim to freedom? “Very well,” she finally said.

  “Very well, what?” he asked.

  “We shall continue to see each other in secret.”

  Ludwig smiled. “I would like that immensely, but are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Charlaine nodded. “I, too, have been lost without you. I never realized how lonely my life was, consumed as it was by work. I like spending time with you, Ludwig, even if we can never marry.”

  “Who says we can’t marry?”

  “Your father, for one. He would never consent to allow us to wed. He hates all that I represent.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m a foreigner,” she said.

  “What difference does that make?”

  “You said your mother died of a fever,” she reminded him. “A fever that your father blamed on foreigners.”

  “And?”

  “And I represent that fever, don’t you see? In his mind, my people were responsible for your mother’s death.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “And yet, you know it’s true.”

  Ludwig sat back, his eyes wandering over to the Temple of Saint Agnes. Obviously deep in thought, it was a few moments before he let out an audible sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Still, it doesn’t mean we can’t see each other.”

  He turned his head, the ache in his heart clearly written all over his face. “True,” he said, “though we could run away together.”

  “And do what? You’re a noble. You have no skills other than fighting, and it would cost a fortune for me to start up a smithy.”

  “I could work as a mercenary,” he offered.

  “So that I could forever worry about you being injured or worse, killed?”

  He nodded his head. “I suppose that’s true.” A smile crept onto his face. “Were I the baron, I could wed whom I wish.”

  “But you aren’t the baron.”

  “True, but I will be one day.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “My father can’t live forever, but I would gladly wait till then if it meant we could be wed.”

  “That could take years,” Charlaine said.

  “Then years it will be. I shall never wed another, not while breath still flows through you.”

  She felt her heart soar. “And I shall make you the same pledge,” she declared. “I, too, shall never wed another.”

  “And if I should die?” he asked.

  “Then I would join the Church.”

  “The Church?”

  “Yes, why not? Temple Knights are always i
n need of a smith.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” said Ludwig.

  The sun finally sank beneath the horizon, leaving them sitting in the dark. He turned to her, her face illuminated by the moonlight.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “And I, you.” She leaned forward, and they kissed.

  * * *

  From a lit window high atop Verfeld keep, the baron watched as the lone rider drew closer. There was no mistaking Ludwig, for even in the moonlight, his white horse stood out. Lord Frederick frowned, for it appeared someone was keeping his son up late, and he had a good notion he knew who it might be.

  He moved to the doorway, calling for a servant. Moments later, a man appeared, bowing respectfully.

  “Ah, Carson, there you are,” the baron said. “Go and fetch me Master Piltz.”

  “Of course, my lord,” the man replied, then rushed off down the hall.

  The baron returned to the window, once again looking out through the open shutters. On this frightfully hot eveing, the slight breeze was refreshing and gave him the added advantage of allowing the distant sound of horses hooves to echo up to him

  * * *

  The shutters were open, admitting a slight breeze on this frightfully hot evening, and allowing the distant sound of horses hooves to echo up to him. He could hear Ludwig conversing with a stable hand and then the distinctive sound of boots climbing the stairs to the front entrance.

  Frederick returned to his seat, thinking things over. A rattle at the door announced a visitor.

  “Come,” he commanded.

  Kasper Piltz stood before him, his hair tousled and his clothes a mess.

  “Did I rouse you?” asked the baron.

  “No, Lord,” Piltz replied.

  “You never were a talented liar, my friend.”

  “You sent for me, my lord?”

  “Yes, I have just seen my son returning from Saints knows where.”

  “Likely Malburg.”

  “I suspect you are right.”

  “Do you wish me to summon him?”

  “I had thought of that,” mused the baron, “but I fear it would do no good. I would only get mad at him, and you’ve seen how he reacts of late.”

  “Then what do you wish to do, my lord?”

  “I am of two minds,” confessed Lord Frederick. “On the one hand, I could order my son to stay away from the town, but I fear he’d find a way to circumvent my orders.”

  “And the other?”

  “We must find the source of his distraction. It’s not that Calabrian girl, is it?”

  “I cannot say for sure, my lord, but I was of the opinion that he'd swore off her.”

  “Then he’s found someone else, for Cunar’s sake.”

  “Surely that is not a bad thing?”

  The baron whirled on his aide. “Not a bad thing? How can you say that? What kind of woman would he find in Malburg? Certainly not the kind that would make a future baroness. Whoever this woman is, she’s a distraction. He won’t want to settle down if he’s busy gallivanting around town.”

  “You should talk to him in the morning, my lord, when cooler heads might prevail.”

  “And say what? I need to know what he’s up to before I can address anything. Who do we have that could keep an eye on him?”

  “How close an eye do you want?”

  The baron thought it over carefully before answering. “Close enough to see what he’s up to, but not so close as to let him know he’s being followed.”

  “I can talk to Mayfield.”

  “The forester?”

  “Aye, my lord, he’s skilled in tracking.”

  “He’s spending time in the city, Kasper, not the wilderness.”

  “It is still within his purview, my lord. Do you remember Haxton?”

  “He was the thief, wasn’t he?”

  “Escaped prisoner, actually,” corrected Piltz.

  “Ah, yes, now I remember. He fled the king's justice in Harlingen, didn’t he?”

  “He did. It was Mayfield that tracked him all the way to Malburg and brought him to justice.”

  “That was some time ago,” said Lord Frederick. “Is he still in town?”

  “He is, my lord. I understand he is spending some time here hunting and trapping.”

  “I suppose he can’t very well spend ALL his time chasing down criminals.”

  “Shall I approach him, my lord?”

  “Yes,” said the baron, “but make it discreet, we don’t want anyone learning of it. It wouldn’t do to have people talking about how I spy on my own son.”

  “Nonsense,” said Piltz. “We are not spying, my lord, merely keeping an eye on him.”

  Baron Verheld smiled. “Very well put, my friend, very well put indeed.”

  12

  Shipwreck

  Autumn 1094 SR

  * * *

  The sky was clear, and the sun warm as they rode to the northeast. Ludwig had promised an exciting day but had avoided any mention of their destination. Charlaine put her trust in him, and they now rode full out, stretching their horse's legs in a mad gallop. They only slowed as they neared Erhard’s Folly, Ludwig finally catching up to her.

  “We’ll go slightly east here,” he said, “and avoid the hills.”

  “Won’t that take us through the forest?”

  “It will, but the woods are thin here. Once we clear them, we’ll turn north, towards the river.”

  “The river? That sounds intriguing.”

  “Not half as much as what lies within it,” he said.

  “Come now, you could at least give me a hint?”

  Ludwig grinned, showing his irresistible smile. “And give it away? I think not.”

  “Then how do you know I’d like it?”

  “Oh, I think you’ll like it. You have an inquisitive mind.”

  “You’re quite free with the compliments today.”

  “And why not? The weather is nice and the company agreeable.”

  “I would hope it’s much more than simply agreeable,” said Charlaine.

  He laughed. “Saints, you drive me to distraction.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing?”

  “It is. It’s very good.”

  She halted for a moment, enjoying the scenery.

  Ludwig watched her as she stared out at the countryside. “Like what you see?”

  “It’s remarkably pleasant out here. Very wild, as though untouched by man.”

  “And so it is, or at least mostly.”

  “You seem to know the area quite well.”

  “I’d better,” he admitted. “I’ve been riding out here all my life, or at least as long as I could ride.”

  “Why? Surely there are many other places to ride in these parts?”

  “There are, but this area offers more of a feast for the eyes.”

  “A feast?”

  “Yes. There’s more variety in the landscape in this area. We have hills to our northwest, forest to our southeast, and plains ahead, at least until we reach the edge of the river.”

  “And then?” Charlaine asked.

  He smiled. “You won’t trick me with that question. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “You can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said with a smile.

  The entered the woods, the light filtering in through birch and ash.

  “It’s cool under the trees,” he remarked.

  “So it is,” she agreed. “You have quite the forest here.”

  “This used to be nothing but seedlings. When I was a child, the trees were no higher than me.”

  “Everything changes in time,” she mused, “even people.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “What do you think we’ll be like, ten years from now?”

  “That’s easy,” he said. “You’ll still be a master smith, and I’ll be the son of the baron. Change comes slowly for the likes of us.”

  “Do you believe in destiny?”


  Ludwig looked at her in surprise. “That’s a strange question. What brought that on?”

  “I was just thinking about Saint Agnes. Some say it was her destiny to become a saint.”

  “They only say that to make her sound important.”

  Charlaine laughed. “I can tell you’re not an overly religious man.”

  “No, I suppose I’m not. Does that bother you?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Agnes tells us to accept other people for who they are, and I can tell you’re a kind soul.”

  “Me? Kind?”

  “Yes, at least that’s the way I see you. Do you not agree?”

  “I’ve never honestly thought of myself as kind, though I suppose there is some merit in it.”

  “You’ll make a wise baron one day,” she said.

  “Me? I don’t want to be the baron.”

  “You can hardly avoid it. At the end of the day, you’re the heir of Verfeld.”

  “I know that,” he said, “but there are other things I’d rather be doing.”

  “Like what?”

  “Travelling, mostly. Ever since I was a child, I’ve wanted to see the world.”

  “There’s nothing stopping you, is there?”

  “Only my father,” Ludwig confessed. “He says I’m too important to the barony. I understand that one day I’ll be baron, but I only wish he would let me get out there and experience life.”

  “And do what,” she asked, “become a famous general?”

  “I must admit I like the sound of commanding armies

  .

  “To do what, conquer the Petty Kingdoms? That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “Conquer, no, but I’ve always wanted to test my mettle in a real battle.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I like the idea of pushing myself to be better,” he said.

  “At?”

  “At anything I set my mind to, frankly, but I’d settle for leading an army. One day, the great empire will invade the Petty Kingdoms, trying to wipe it out for good, and I want to be ready to defeat them.”

  “And you think that a small kingdom like Hadenfeld could resist them?”

  “No, of course not, at least not on their own. I expect the other Petty Kingdoms would unite against them.”

  “History says otherwise,” Charlaine warned. “What you really need is a big empire of your own, like those Therengians you talked of.”